


English Computers

by thevenbluewrites



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Eventual Romance, Literature, M/M, Music, Mutual Pining, Opposites Attract, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevenbluewrites/pseuds/thevenbluewrites
Summary: Tom Blake and Will Schofield couldn't be more polar opposites.Will is a talented writer. His teachers think so. His mother thinks so. But all he wants is to blend in and lead his own life free of attention and with as little complication as possible.Tom wants stardom. With a promising interest in rock music, him and his friends attempt to start a band. But are not as successful as they hoped they would be, especially with the stress of exams, family life and the future.But when the two begin bonding due to a few encounters; they realise that maybe they're not as different as they thought.
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield, William Schofield/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 68





	1. Will

It's an ugly book cover. That was the first thing I noticed. It looks more like a sociology text book design than a cover for a well known play.

We all sit with our chairs pulled into the rectangular table formation and discuss the plot and context of J.B Priestly's 'An Inspector Calls' in monotone voices. Although I stay silent and glance at the disgusting cover with boredom. I read this book 3 years before I knew we'd be studying it for A-level; part of Mum's 'book a week' reading scheme that she forces me to do every summer. So in other words, I pretty much know it. Therefore listening to the guys, who are only taking English Lit because their parents forced them to, rant on about how the Inspector is probably a ghost is not exactly what I want to be doing with my time. I figure if I just don't talk, I'll become invisible. But of course that fools everyone but Mr. Erinmore.

"William?" his voice breaks my partial fixation on the hardback cover. "Do you have anything to add to that?"

It's obvious this was an attempt to catch me not paying attention as my brain wondered from the topic at hand and, much to his guess, and I have no Idea where the class conversation is even at.

"Repeat the point?" I murmur, I hear Andrew and Johnny laugh under their breaths at my misfortune. Mr. Erinmore shushes them.

"Callie was just saying how she reckons the inspector may have been-"

A knock on the door saves me from a public speaking event. Mr. Erinmore however, is barely able to say 'come in' before the door clicks open and Tom Blake, fresh from the music faculty, pokes his mullet-haired head into the room.

"Alright sir?" He breaks the dullness instantly and I see his black-dressed-bros behind him, large headphones around necks.

"Is there a reason for this disturbance?" Mr. Erinmore sighs with clear annoyance.

"So basically yeah?" Tom begins, completely unfazed. "The computers in the music rooms have broken and Mr. Leslie we should use those." He points to the single row of 5 cheap computers behind me, that no one ever uses unless they need to print off coursework or something.

"Is it absolutely urgent?" Mr. Erinmore sternly asks. I chew my cheek, always finding these encounters awkward to watch.

"Well we've got to finish this composition by the end of the week so-"

"Oh alright, just don't be a nuisance." Mr. Erinmore snappily gives in while turning back to the page of the book.

"Cheers sir!"

The four boys squeeze past the left row and quickly make themselves comfortable. Tom sits right behind me and I roll my eyes because now I know I'm not going to get any peace and quiet. Tom's in my form. He sits two rows in front of me and is known for his loud persona and constant stream of exaggerated stories. If anything mildly funny or interesting were to happen to you, Tom would probably know about it and tell his mates for the laughs. Even now I can hear them giggling like 6 year olds about something.

"Right, before we were interrupted," Mr. Erinmore continues and a slight sting of panic hits me, as this probably means he still wants me to answer his question from before. "William, we were discussing how the Inspector may have been a mouthpiece for J.B Priestly's socialist views." As we do almost every lesson. "Care to elaborate?"

No sir. Not really.

But I'm too caught in the net now.

"Well-" I begin. My voice catches. I cough. "All the characters are responsible for the wellbeing of each other, hence their roles in Eva Smith's death. Since socialism represents a working society, the plot line shows-"

I'm shocked away from my train of thought and speech by the feeling of being yanked out of my seat from my hair and crashing to the floor. The whole class erupts into roaring laughter at the event. It appears Tom took a fall from leaning back on his chair and the first thing he impulsively caught to stabilise himself was my hair. Unfortunately, his efforts failed so now both of us lie on the small section of carpeted floor separating the debate and the computers. I clutch my head, still stunned before the pain starts to settle in. Fuck me it hurts like a bitch. Tom on the other hand, laughs like a hyena. His boys howling alongside him. The only one who isn't in fits is, of course, Mr. Erinmore.

"Right!" He shouts, halting the room. "Thomas, Oliver, Liam and Anthony! If you can't behave like adults then you can leave my classroom! And William, you haven't been shot. But go to the medical room if needs be. That looked painful."

"Nah he's fine!" Andrew calls. I sneer at him as I lift my stiff body back into my chair.

"Apologies sir!" Tom exclaims, heaving himself up. "Wasn't on purpose!" I rock forward as he pats my shoulder. "Thanks for being my cushion Schofers!"

Cringe ripples through me. Tom and his friends have this dumb gang-esque habit of calling each other by their last names. To most people, especially his friends, Tom is just 'Blake'. But I'm not his friend. I've lost count of the amount of times those guys have referred to me by my surname (or variations of it) and I don't care for it at all. I don't want to be grouped with them.

Tom sits back down and slides his headphones onto his ears. Class continues as usual. Except there are odd glances and chuckles at me throughout. Not to mention the clicking of keys and faint drums from non-noise cancelling headphones. Subtle torture. Fortunately, it's not to long before the lunch bell rings and we all dismiss ourselves. I'm stopped though by Mr. Erinmore before stepping out the door.

"William can I have a quick word?" I do a 180 and face him whilst hoisting my bag on my shoulder. "How's your head?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Honestly." I lie. My scalp still feels partially tender as if it was burnt. 

"Listen, you can't let others frighten you into holding back opinions."

"What makes you say that sir?"

Mr. Erinmore takes a seat at his desk and raises and eyebrow. 

"You're a smart boy William, I feel you're holding yourself back far too much. Joining in a group discussion won't harm you."

"I know." I reply, fidgeting with the strap of my bag and wanting the conversation to be over so I can avoid the lunch queue.

"They're just boys and girls." Yeah the same boys and girls who called me 'beanpole' for two consecutive years. "And I'll have a word with that Tom."

"Sir there's really no need!" The last thing I want is a massive deal over whatever the hell happened back there. I've always hated being the centre of attention if you couldn't already tell. Or the cause for someone else being the centre of attention. Hate it, hate it, hate it.

"Ok. if you insist. See you tomorrow William."

"Yeah, see you sir."

I exit the room to find Violet leaning on the lockers. Her velvety black hair is tucked behind her ears and she beams a red-lipped smile at my sudden presence. Everything feels suddenly more relaxed as I slip my hand into hers.

"Hi gorgeous." She comes after planting a kiss on my cheek. I smile into it.

"That didn't leave a mark did it?" I joke.

"Very funny. Come on, I'm starving. Let's get something to eat."


	2. Tom

"Oi, Blake made a right tit of himself during period four!" Wilko bellows to Crawford as he sits down with us. 

We take up our usual bench in the park beside the school building. Sure, we could be using this time to cram in the study area. But a beautiful afternoon like this, we agreed, should be spent with our banter and fag smoke like we usually do.

"As usual?" Crawford remarks at Wilko's comment.

"Oi fuck off!" I exclaim, shoving his shoulder. All in good nature though. "It wasn't a bloody public spectacle."

"It should have been!" Radley adds before taking in a drag of smoke. "Guess that's what you get for balancing on the legs of one of those wheely chairs you dickhead."

"Who's a dickhead?" Mason's voice sounds as he reaches our meet-up. The most polished one of all of us he is. But we still take him under our wings.

"Blake." the other three reply to him in unison.

"Piss off." I jeer.

" _You_ piss off! It was bloody excellent!" Radley belts in retaliation. I clench my teeth as Wilko launches himself out of his space to inform an approaching Mason head on that-

"Basically, we was all in one of the English rooms on the computers because the music ones are pretty much fucked at the moment and Sir doesn't trust us in the study area cos-"

"Yeah yeah, get to the point!" Mason persists and I've pretty much lost control of them at this point. Crawford continues.

"And Blake's balancing on the wheels of the computer chair cos he's a wanker."

"Yeah there's a whole class going on as well!" Wilko adds, since he's now embracing his role as 'useless info giver'.

"So Blake falls on his arse, but beforehand he tries to stop himself from doing so." Crawford's getting real excited to reach the oh so fucking funny climax. "So what does he find to support himself?" I wait for the conclusion of my own fuckwit-ery like waiting to get sniped. "Only fuckin' William Schofield's head!!"

"Beanpole Schofield?!" Mason hacks out his laughter.

"It wasn't on purpose you twats!" I exclaim, the excitement of the banter beginning to tire me out.

"Yeah no, I couldn't imagine you purposely tearing Schofield's hair from his barnet." Mason sarcastically drags while sitting on the patch of grass next to us, wide grin still plastered onto his face. "Unless you're into all that shit!"

"Fuck right off!" I kick my leg out at him, which he dodges. And I suppose, in the spirit of things, I start laughing and feel lighter.

"So what's the move then Craw?" Mason asks a yawning Crawford as we, at last, make ourselves comfortable.

"What move?"

"Oh you've obviously forgotten then!" I snap. Basically, Crawford's lot manage 'The Widowed Queen'; where we all spent his eighteenth getting plastered. He promised he'd ask his folks if we could play some live music there at some point this month.

"Forgotten what?!"

"Asking about the Queen bruv!" Wilko yells at a high pitch.

"Awh shit you guys! I was gonna ask!" Crawford whines. "But Mum and Dad need notice about these things and-"

"Red tips!" Radley mocks. I cough on my smoke with a laugh. The stick-out ends of Crawford's ears go red when he's lying. It's impossible not to notice. But I directly look at his face and tell something's up. Maybe the reason for the red tips is valid this time round.

"Come on mate, what's up?" I ask sincerely. "Don't have to tell tall tales here." Crawford rolls his eyes and sighs.

"Mum and Dad don't want me to be in the band anymore."

A chorus of 'whats' and 'come ons' from all of us. Crawford's guitar solo's always raved, not to mention his knack for lyrics. And he's the usual joker when all of us feel like shit. His loss from the band would be a tragedy.

"How come?!" I finally utter. "Why didn't you tell us sooner? You said you was fine asking your lot!"

"Yeah?! Until Dad said the only music I should be focusing on is my coursework!" Crawford argues. "And I _was_ gonna tell you, cos maybe they would have changed their minds. But it doesn't look likely. Plus my grades are dropping and my mocks went down the fucking bog. But it's not like I'm gonna quit hanging out with you lot?"

"Yeah but we was actually getting somewhere with this!" Wilko spouts with furrowed brows.

"Were we??" Crawford bites back, although his voice is fading. "Lads. We don't even have a name!"

I open my mouth. But soon shut it after nothing comes out. Because he has a point. A good point. I hate that it's a good point.

"Well-" I talk finally. I don't even know why I'm saying anything to be honest. My attempts at persuasion are gonna fail. "The Queen would have been our first gig!"

"I'm sorry guys. It's a no-can-do!"

No one really knows what to say next. Crawford just slumps back into his lean on the bench. And the mood is brought down for a few seconds. But not before long before Wilko goes:

"Ah let's forget this for now. Let's go back to _50 shades of Blake_."

"Fuck. Off."

* * *

I kick the door shut behind me and lean against it for a bit, exhaling away the day.

"You're back sooner than I thought you'd be?" Mum's voice sounds from upstairs, probably ironing like she usually does on a Monday evening.

"Nah, six on the dot like you said!" I call back, knowing she never really looks at the clock. 

"Oh! Well done." She cooes, "Your Dad'll be home in about an hour. We'll eat then."

"Cool."

I drop my shoes by the door and head up to my room. The first thing I spot is Myrtle, fast asleep on the edge of my bed; cute, but if she's sleeping right now then that probably means she'll be scratching on my door at 4am or something. I choose not to disturb her by playing guitar and instead plug my headphones in and sketch. Currently working on a snake with fire coming from its nostrils; just thought it was a cool concept.

Suddenly, my phone rings. The buzzing and alarm-like tone wake Myrtle instantly and she bounds off the bed, only to run round it to where I'm laying. Her floppy ears and shaggy fur get in my eyes as she licks my face. At least she knows I'm home.

"Christ, move will ya?" I murmur as I push her gently to one side and reach for my phone. It's Joe. Calling from Uni.

"Sup!" I answer.

"Hey Tom!" his usually cheery voice crackling from bad signal. "Had some free time so I thought I'd call you, see how things are doing."

"Ah, Mum and Dad are all good. And Myrtle's taking over my bed now since you've been gone so long."

"Good luck! She snores!"

"Yeah I noticed." The line crackles a little more.

"You alright Tom?"

"Yeah, why'd you ask?"

"You sound a bit flat."

"I've had a bit of a day of it to be completely honest with you." I sigh, leaning back into my bed frame.

"Oh no, how come?"

"Right so, y'know how I was telling you about finally starting a band with the lads and Crawford setting us up at The Queen?"

"Oh yes, good stuff, how's that all going?"

"Turns out Craw's decided at last fucking minute to pull out of it. Even though it was his idea!"

"What? But you guys where really excited about that!"

"I know! But long story short, we've lost one of our guitarists, our songwriter and a potential first gig."

"But you haven't lost a friend right?" Joe's voice is softer than mine, so it's clear I haven't realised that I'm getting agitated.

"Nah." I mumble "he'll still be hanging round us as usual. The gang's not gone. It's just..."

"Trust me." Joe takes over. "Dan from my science class was going to come with our group for our summer holiday in France but then didn't because his parents wanted him to focus on his summer jobs."

"We're all growing up I guess."

"Perhaps. But don't let that stop you from doing the things you love!"

I'll admit it, things have been real quiet ever since Joe left home, even though we've both outgrown the apple picking tradition. He was always someone I could talk to regularly, so that's why these odd phonically cheer me up.

"Hey," he continues. "You don't think you could pass the phone to Mum?"

"Sure."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update as promised!  
> So for those wondering, each chapter will switch POV.  
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. Will

I tap the section of my head that was used as a handlebar today, as an almost subconscious check to see if it still hurts. Fortunately nothing. I exhale slightly through my nose as a form of nonchalant laughter and continue to pull my shirt over my head.

“What’s so funny?” Violet mumbles through a dazed smile as she lies sideways under her bedcovers, skin glowing from the bedside light. I lie beside her and kiss her forehead.

“Nothing.” I reply. “Just some stupid things that happened in English.”

“Was Andrew and all of them being absurd again?”

“You could say that.”

Violet giggles and slowly lies on her back, her hand reaching to hold mine, which I accept. We lock eyes for a while and the world feels like it’s come to a halt.

“So much for studying then.” Violet murmurs with heavy lidded eyes.

“You’re going to pass that sociology test anyway, you don’t need my help.” I raise an eyebrow as I reassure her. I mean, she always does. I’m just telling her the truth.   
Violet squeezes my hand before reaching for her phone on the table beside her. She holds it close to her face and types, facial expression becoming more neutral. She’s only started doing that recently; the up close phone checking.

“Shit.” She sighs in an upset manner, looking up at me with a disappointed expression. “Dad’s coming home early. You’ll have to go before he-“ 

“Before he gets back, I know.” Violet always feels self conscious having me around while her parents are in, but that’s understandable. Whenever she’s at mine, mum won’t stop talking and it’s pretty awkward for both of them. “Yeah I’m making dinner tonight anyway so I should probably dash.”

Violet leans up and kisses me, her lips soft and warm.

“I love you.” She sings.

“I love you too.”

I leave her house not long after, taking the shortcut through the park to get home. The sky this time of evening is a brilliant gradient of warm yellow and indigo and the trees leave spiderweb-like silhouettes upon it. I breathe in the late September air mixed with Violets scent still in my clothes. For once, feeling pretty good about myself.  
While walking up the hill, I spot a brown, curly haired dog bounding my way. I assume he’s going to run past me but he scampers sound my ankles and barks for attention. Giving in, I kneel down and stroke his fur, receiving minuscule licks on my cheek.

“Hey boy! You lost?”

“She’s a girl actually!” a familiar voice sounds before I can look up and see where the dog came from. My mood slightly dies when I look up and see a disheveled Tom holding a lead. I divert from his eye contact and stand up. 

“C’mon you rascal.” Tom mutters as he fidgets with the buckle of the lead to the dogs collar. “Silly girl ran off just as my back was turned!”

Tom stands at my level. He’s shorter than me but I know he thinks he’s six foot tall in his head. He only realises it’s me after a few seconds however, his face morphs into that ‘charming’ smirk he uses on literally everyone and I can tell what’s coming. 

“Schofield!” he exclaims, only with less vigour as I guess he doesn’t have people to perform to except me. And he knows I don’t buy it. “Thanks for keeping Myrtle at bay! She likes you, look!” 

I glance back down at the now named dog wagging her tail and looking back up at me with sparkly eyes. I don’t say anything back to Tom. I just smile.

“How’s the head?” Tom asks and at the very mention, I feel a slight twinge on my scalp.

“Honestly it’s fine.” I reply, eyes wondering all over the place to distract from the awkwardness. “I know it was an accident.”

“Sorry ‘bout it though.” He continues, scratching the back of his head. Myrtle barks and jumps with her paws on Toms shins, almost as if she read my mind and is trying to save me from this encounter. 

“Right, better get this one home.” Tom says in a playful tone. “See you in form tomorrow Schofield!” He begins to depart forward with Myrtle leading the way. “Nice hickey by the way.”

I just about hear that one and bring a hand to the side of my neck, watching Tom walk into the distance. Even by the way he walks I can tell he’s full of himself.   
I continue my journey, shaking everything off except the lingering of Violets presence. I arrive home with a slight spring in my step. I call for Mum. No answer. After hanging my coat up, I walk into the living room to find her passed out on the sofa, still in her work clothes. The TV plays re-runs of an American sitcom I can’t identify.

“Mum.” I whisper loud enough to wake her, but not to startle her. “I’m back.” She slowly opens her eyes and smiles when she observes me.

“Hi lovely.” She yawns. “How was your day?” 

“It was ok.” I reply as I head to the kitchen and start looking through the fridge. We haven’t got much in. Pasta with butter and cheese it is. “I managed to speak in front of the class. Sort of.”

“Oh fantastic!” Mum always gets elated at my bare minimum. It’s nice though. “I told you reading Inspector Calls would pay off.”

“Guess you were right.” I take out a recently opened bag of pasta, hoping there’s enough in there and get the stove going. Mum walks in rubbing her eyes from the remaining tiredness. “Was work ok?”

“It could have gone better.” Mum says with slight irritation. “Would like to be able to go one day without Ken breathing down my neck. Bloody bastard.”

“Well. he is your boss.”

“Still. I’m only nice to him because he pays me.”

“Fair enough.” I laugh.

“So, how’s Violet?” Mum changes the subject as she rummages through the cupboard for tea or something. “Feels like I barely ever see her these days.”

“No, she’s grand!” I say, feeling a warmth in my cheeks. “She’s just got a lot to focus on these days so she prefers to stay at home.”

“Helping her study then?” Mum jokes in a sly tone. “I’ve heard it all before!” I cringe and stir the pasta with a fork. Mum comes up behind me and kisses my cheek. 

“You’re getting so tall!” she stands and looks at me with admiration. I grin at her lovingly. It’s just been me and her for about four years now and Mum is consistently trying to hide from me how she’s on her last legs by behaving positive as she can around me. Even though I’ve told her she can tell me anything. It’s complicated. “Where did my little Lilliam go, huh?”

“You promised me you wouldn’t call me that anymore.” I whine through a chortle. She’d call me that waking me up or putting me to bed when I was small.

“I’m your mother I can’t make any promises!” She kisses my cheek and proceeds to sit at the table. 

From then on we don’t really talk. The only sounds are the news headlines and the bubbling of boiling water. But that’s our normal I guess.  
Tomorrow is another day.


	4. Tom

The morning routine is fairly simple: Wake up at 6:50, shower, get dressed (and if there's ten minutes or so to spare, climb back into bed and get back up at 7:35), eat breakfast, kiss Mum goodbye, wave goodbye to Dad, plug in some Sex Pistols or Wolf Alice or whatever comes up on my playlist first, message the lads that I'm on my way and get going.

Well it turns out this morning has been sabotaged by the fucking dog.

"Myrtle, what the fuck have you done?!" I exclaim as if she can understand me. In my hands I hold my chewed up headphones; the wire in pieces and the padding around the ears butchered. Myrtle looks as if she's smiling at me, completely oblivious as pets are known for being.

"Don't swear at her!" I hear mum scold me from behind her bedroom door. I clench my teeth to suppress a fucked off groan. It's too late for me to do shit about this now.

"You're not getting away with this." I point at Myrtle sternly, to which she barks ignorantly. I discard the ruined headphones into the bin and skulk away. Kiss Mum, wave goodbye to Dad and off I go.

My surroundings piss me off as I trudge down the street; cars zooming past, leaves rustling, shoes slapping or clicking on the path from various different people. Normally the walk speeds up while I'm preoccupied with music. But thanks to Myrtle, that's no longer a viable option. Everything goes slower and it's impossible to zone out. So I become a saddo and sing the lyrics I remember from 'Giant Peach' under my breath.

"I got change in a pocket somewhere. Got my letter in the box. Tired of waiting for the bus to nowhere. And tired of chasing the-" I can't remember if it's 'stone fox' or 'dumb fox'. I just mumble that bit incoherently. "I don't tell lies no more, you know. I just don't tell the truth. I don't know what I'm looking for, ya know. But I'm not looking for proof!"

I warble the guitar riffs to myself while tapping the drum beat on the side of my leg, watching my feet walk me forward. Gusts of wind are probably dragging my rambles to other ears, making my look stupid. But I don't stop.

"I have a tricky love affair, you know. With the place where I grew up. But it knows I'll never leave, ya know. I never left it much-"

"You talking to your imaginary friend?" All of a sudden, Wilko is walking beside me. 

"What? How long have you been there?"

"Long enough to witness you looking like you're schizophrenic!" He chuckles, looking at his own walking feet. "Where're the Sonys then?"

"Bloody dog chewed them up." I answer. "I was trying to distract myself."

"Fair enough mate."

I look at his side profile, the sun creating a white-yellow lining around his face and hair. But it's not long before I notice something rank. Wilko's earlobe is red and inflamed and the swollen skin puffs against a small black stud.

"Eurgh fam! What happened to your bloody ear!?"

Wilko reaches up the second I point it out and winces as his fingertips make contact with the abomination. He mutters an 'awh fuck' as he realises what's up.

"It looks like a fucking Haribo ring with a blackcurrant stuck in it." I state, watching his face fall in annoyance. "Why'd you pierce your ear?"

" _I_ didn't, my sister did!" He groans.

"Even worse!"

"She said it wouldn't do this!" Wilko says, exasperated. "All I wanted was to look like Robert Smith!"

"Robert Smith didn't have his ears pierced."

"Oh fucking... Whatever then."

We reach school sooner than I thought, despite me knowing the journey like the back of my hand. The boys have shown up one by one on the way. We all walk as a five through the main doors. I just about sign in with my student ID card before I'm halted and separated from the guys by Mr. Mackenzie. I had him for biology in years 10 and 11 and let me tell you, he did not take kindly to me at all. Nowadays it seems like all he does is pester me about useless shit. I stand for a split second, wondering what he's going to have a go at me for this time.

"We've talked about this before Thomas, ripped jeans go against Sixth Form dress code."

"Awh Sir, they ain't even that bad!" I argue. And I'm right, they aren't even _strategically_ ripped. They're just old jeans.

"Well it's not like I'm going to send you home to change." His tone is stern as he tries to retain his status over me, even though I'm eighteen and not fucking twelve. "Get a note. I'll see you in detention." He walks off and immediately starts scolding Year Sevens for running in the corridors. The lads have fully deserted me so I head to my form room alone. Of course I'm not gonna get a bloody note or go to the detention. Any teacher who sends Sixth Formers to detention clearly has nothing better to do.

The bell goes as I walk up the stairwell. I briefly make eye contact with Romi Lock, who rolls her eyes away from my gaze and continues in the opposite direction. I tut a short laugh. Romi and I have been on bad terms ever since we made out at Johnny Smith's house party because she assumed it meant were in a relationship (side note: it didn't).

"There he is!" Radley cheers as I finally arrive outside the door to our form as Mrs. Hollins is unlocking it.

"Don't get too bloody comfortable." I address as I stand behind him. "You lot are ditching me first period!"

"Oh yeah, forgot you were gonna be saddo in the study area again." Mason adds.

"I've got history to do anyway, your loud mouths won't be putting me off."

"Bollocks! You're just gonna smoke behind the bloody bike shed again!"

The class walk one by one into the room. I feel the cold air from the automatic open windows make the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I sit next to Radley on the back row as Mrs. Hollins sits down and logs onto the computer to do the register.

"Well, well, well. Emily Hayes is looking well fit this morning." Radley says, nudging my side. I glance over at Emilt, who's sitting to the right of my two rows down. She looks... alright? She twirls her long hair in between her fingers, glasses resting on her nose as she laughs at something Kath has said.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Nah bruv, you'd have to be gay if you thought a beauty like her was just 'alright looking.'"

"Oh behave." I mutter as I put my bag on the floor.

"Tom that is not your seat." Mrs. Hollins says in her Liverpool accent, not even looking up from her computer. it's like she can sense me not doing as I'm told.

'Just for this one time Miss?"

"No. You do this every morning. Move."

I sigh in defeat and move back down to the front. All eyes on me. Miss starts taking the register. I start doodling in my notebook. This page I'm working on is pretty impressive if you ask me. Names are called one by one and followed by bored "here's". Including one from me. The door opens halfway through. Schofield enters looking out of breath, as he obviously just got in.

"Sorry I'm late Miss!"

"Don't worry Will, your name hasn't been called yet. Go sit down."

Schofield nods and walks past. I glance up at him. He's already trying to remove his jacket, that obvious hickey from his girl poking out from under his shirt collar just below his jawline.

"Blake, you know you're scribbling on the table right?" Toby Mosely whispers to my left. I snap my eyes below me and observe how my pen has trailed from my paper to the table surface.

"Shit." I mutter, licking my thumb and trying to scrub the marker off. 

"Y'know these tables have dicks carved into them right?" Mosely chuckles. "I doubt the janitors are going to give too much of a shit about a line of pen."

"It's going to piss me off for the rest of the morning otherwise mate."

My phone buzzes. I pull it out of my jean pocket to put it on silent before I see a message from Radley:

_RADS: You look like you're wanking the table off_

I turn around to give him the finger. He's having a right old giggle under his breath. 

"Tom! Eyes to the front please." Mrs. Hollins exclaims.

As I turn back round, I make brief eye contact with Schofield, who brushes me off immediately.


	5. Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long one this. Hope you all enjoy...

I woke up feeling blue. Not sure why. Just did. I managed to drag myself out of bed on the mental promise that everything will look up today. Because in all fairness, it has been recently. Maybe not as much as I thought it would but I'm trying this new thing where I block out any negatives and focus on the positives. Even if there are only, like, one or two. For example; right now I'm on my way to psychology with a pretty clear head, especially since I completed an essay for it that I was struggling with.

Unlike the setup in the English rooms, we sit at individual desks with two chairs to them each. Since we're a relatively small class, the spaced out organisation provides a relatively calm environment. I spend the first minute of being seated thinking about what kind of conversations I might have with Violet and her friends during period 3 or what music I could listen to in the study area.

"Hey Will!" Linda-Mae Harrow sits next to me and flashes a smile showing off her bright pink braces. I smile at her. Linda-Mae has sat next to me in this class since the beginning of last year. I welcome her eccentric personality in a way I don't welcome others's. She's fantastic at speaking her mind without giving a shit about what people think of her. I admire and envy her at the same time. She taps her painted white nails on her binder. "Done the essay?" 

"Oh yes, thanks for reminding me Linda-Mae!" Mrs. Musgrave exclaims. "Essays in everyone!" I hear exaggerated groans from the people who obviously didn't do it. Their loss.

I hoist my bag onto my lap and unzip it to find my own psychology binder. 

It's not there. Panic grips me. For the love of God, I had it yesterday, where could it have got to? I spent ages on that bloody essay! I retrace my steps in my head: Home, Violet's house, photography, lunch, hung out in the art studio with Violet and her friends-

Shit. That's where it got to. I was finishing the conclusion in the art studio while Violet worked on her project.

"Miss?" I raise my hand.

"Yes Will?"

"I left my binder in the study area, it's got my essay in it, can I-"

"Yes, go fetch it but don't be too long!"

"Thank you."

Of course I didn't tell her it's actually in the art studio as I wanted to avoid a discussion about why it's there.

The school building is quiet now that everyone is in their classes and it's only in times like this I realise how vast it is. I'm almost overwhelmed by the space to breath. I walk down the stairs and take a right to the art faculty corridor, hearing faint chatter from the Sixth Form area just below the balcony. The Sixth Form art studio is right at the end of the hall I walk down. She doesn't have a lesson right now so I assume it's empty. It better be. I reach the door and peek through its rectangular glass window, immediately spotting the light blue folder on the table closest to me. I breath a sigh of relief. Thank fuck. And the room is empty so that's a plus. 

Before I open the door, I spot and briefly admire the small oil painting Violet did of me before school broke up for the summer holidays. It's resting by the window. My heart does little somersaults. But then I push the door open. A scared sounding gasp shocks me and I jolt my body around to the direction it came in. 

My body seizes.

Violet stands in the corner of the room... With Andrew Larsons hands all over her. Hers around his shoulders and neck.

We an eye contact that cuts deep like splints of shattered glass. What happens in a nanosecond feels like hours; Andrew taking his lips off her neck and glancing at me as if the world's still fucking turning, Violets petrified and guilty looking eyes. I'm stiff and numb and my heart feels like it's going to come out of my throat. I can't look anymore. My weak hand snatches my binder from the desk.

"Forgot this." I spit and pull my rigid limbs the hell out of there. Violet pushes Andrew away from her in my proviral vision. But I'm already out the door.

"Will! Come back!" Violet cries, chasing after me. I don't respond to her. All I can focus on is how much my lungs feel like they're on fire. Violet grabs my shoulder. I wretch it away. "Come on Will, lets talk about this!"

"WHAT IS THERE TO TALK ABOUT!?" I yell, the sound of my voice echoes off the walls. And then, silence. Violet looks at me, shaken, tears streaming down her face. What the hell is she fucking crying for? This entire thing is her fault. And the thing is? She knows. That's why she stands there speechless.

"Will I-"

"Have a nice life."

I turn my back on her and walk away. She doesn't follow me. I walk and walk and walk. I don't go back to psychology. I don't look behind me. I walk. That walk turns into a run. Down the stairwell, through the corridors, past classrooms. As if my ribs would collapse if it stopped. All of a sudden I feel like if I don't get any fresh air this instant, I'll vomit so hard I'll faint. I spy the back doors leading me out of the building. I push them open, the cool breeze hitting my face.

I attempt to dash behind the bike shed to hide myself away completely when I collide with someone. The impact knocks the air out of me. My eyes adjust, Tom pushes himself away from me by my upper arms. He releases a surprised half laugh.

"We've got to stop meeting like this Scho."

"Oh my _God_ , Shut up!!" It seems Toms presence is the gunpowder to my already blistering flame. "For _once_ can you just leave me the fuck alone?!"

"Woah I-"

"I'm not in the fucking mood!" I push past him, knocking into his side slightly. "And my name's Will ok? Fucking Will!"

I finally feel my exhaustion take me over as I lean against the nearest tree. I try to focus something. Anything. How the bloody bike shed separates the school from the woods. How I'm still clutching my Goddamn psychology binder. Just focus on anything but the image of Violet and Andrew practically merging into one person. I slope down, back against the bark and throw the binder aside. I curse repeatedly as I bring my hands to my face. I cry silently, like a kid.

But I still feel a presence to the side of me. It weighs my body down further. I wipe my eyes and look up. Tom's still standing where we crashed into each other, looking down at me completely unfazed. He twiddles a cigarette dos in his fingers.

"What?" I bite, he doesn't flinch.

"D'ya want a smoke?"

"No _thank_ you!" I snap and look away.

"Alright, suit yourself." Tom mumbles, but instead of going away, he moves closer and leans on the wall of the shed. I wait for him to get fed up and leave but he just says, lighting one up. I don't look directly at him in case he's staring, which he probably is. I hate it But what can I do? I'd rather be stuck out here with Tom Blake than make a scene indoors.

"What's up with you then?" He asks. I roll my eyes.

"Why do you care?"

"Don't answer my question with a question mate." Tom sighs out along with his smoke. The smell singes my nostrils slightly. "You've stormed into my space super distressed about something. Wanna talk about it?"

He must me joking.

"To you?"

"Yeah. Unless you want to weep to the grass?"

I tut and finally look him in the face.

"Yeah, no."

"Why not?" He asks genuinely, walking over and sitting himself beside me. I shuffle away slightly.

"Because you'll do something like, take my misery and turn it into an Academy Award winning comedy which you'll pitch to your friends and then to the whole school." To that, Tom raises an eyebrow and removes his cigarette from his lips.

"You really think that low of me?"

"I know you, Tom." I state. "You never miss out the opportunity to be a gossipy little bitch."

"Wow, that's deep." Tom chuckles with a stabbing energy. "I was just trying to help you out. If you don't want it then fine, but I ain't leaving." He taps excess ash away from us and finds my eyes as if trying to pick clues from my soul. It's not intimidating as such but it's... something. I only notice now that his eyes aren't actually green like I always thought, but a pale blue. "You don't know me at all by the way."

We sit in an uncomfortable silence. Not ignoring each other but definitely not acknowledging either. After about 30 seconds, I feel my personal tension simmer down. That alone causes me to speak, even though I don't want to.

"Why were you wondering anyway?"

"Cos I ain't never seen you like this?" Tom says like a guess.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Cos you're always so... reserved. I'm just curious as to what set you off."

I sigh.

"You'll laugh at me."

"How come?"

"I don't know, you just will. It's... stupid."

"Listen." Tom leans into me and closes the space between us. "Don't tell him I told you cos he'll go fuckin' mental. But Mason's cousin died of leukaemia when we was in Year Eight. He cried for weeks. But then, in Year Nine, Crawford's PS4 exploded and he cried for the same amount of time!" Another thing I'm noticing is how Tom talks with his hands a lot. "Both of those things? Completely different matters. But it made them upset and y'know what? Fair."

"So what's your point?" I tiredly beckon.

"Well if something is bothering you? It's bothering you. There's no two ways round it. Doesn't matter what it is. And-" He stops and searches for words. "-People who make fun of other people for being upset over stuff that genuinely means something to them can fuck right off. That's just a total abuse of authority, which shouldn't exist by the way. You get me?" We look at each other again. He can tell I've been listening. And strangely what he's saying is the closest thing to the reassurance I need. What are the fucking chances. "Fuck them right?"

"Yeah fuck them."

I look down at my hands, fingers still nervously intertwined with each other. I relax them. But no less than a second later, I flinch at the horrible image of Violet and Andrew again.

"Changed my mind." I state through clenched teeth, wavering my hand over to Tom. "Give me a cig."

"All yours man." He replies, taking one of the rolled tobacco sticks out of his box and handing it to me. I stick it between my own lips.

"Can I have a light then?"

Tom's already read my mind, drawing a red plastic lighter from his jacket pocket. I lean over to him and he lights the cigarette for me. I pay attention to the blue-orange flame lighting the end. I inhale a grey cloud. I've always found the taste vile but the sensation relaxed me almost instantly.

"So," Tom starts, his own smoke floating from his mouth. "What happened?"

"My girlfriend cheated on me."

"Fucking shit!" Tom exclaims, "I'm sorry mate."

"Not even just that, with someone who pisses me off regularly. Who I like, complained to her about all the time."

Tom looks ahead.

"Who?"

"Andrew fucking Larson." At the sound of his name, Tom tuts.

"The prick." He mutters.

"Thought you were friends with him?" I barely finished the statement. Tom laughs loudly and sharply.

"Fucking idiot thinks he's on top of the universe, I get on with him cos I'll punch him in the face if I don't." I take a deep inhale.

"One thing we have in common then."

"Nah, surely there's more we have in common then bloody Larson issues?" Tom teases, nudging my shoulder with his own.

"Like?"

"Like..." He clicks his fingers as he wracks his brain. "Ooh! Do we have the same favourite colour?"

"Basic question with a basic answer." I sigh. "It's light blue."

"Welp, that's the colour of my eyes?" Tom jests as if he's made some groundbreaking discovery.

"How's that a thing in common?" I ask, finally feeling a smile grow. No answer. Just giggles. "Right well, do you have a job?"

"That's something we'd have in common with half the year group." He mutters, pulling his burning out cigarette from his mouth and snubbing it out on the grass. "I stack shelves at Waitrose innit. Fucking first class. You?" I halt myself from telling him at first, but fuck it.

"I volunteer at an old peoples care home." More sharp chuckles. "Shut up."

"Nah mate that's phenomenal!" Tom flashes a toothy grin. I fail at surprising my own giggles. Or maybe I'm just shivering from the breeze.

"No but... My Grandad lived there before he died. We were quite close so I wanted to help out in his memory. Plus you actually meet some really amazing people. One woman I look after, Edie, she's a hundred and three years old!"

"Jesus, fair enough." Tom says with genuine interest.

"Yeah I know right?"

Another silence. Suddenly the weight comes down on me again. The tightness in the chest, the images, the everything. No. I must have a distraction. I take in my biggest ever drag from the cigarette. Big mistake. I hack out wet sounding coughs along with dragon-like smoke.

"Bloody hell! Steady on Scho!" Tom cries out, slapping my back.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm-" Not fine. I can't escape from how different everything suddenly feels. The blue mood from this morning was definitely foreshadowing and now it sticks. "Just..." I struggle to compose myself, but I'll have to. "After all the months and the dates and the paintings and the... Why'd she do that?"

"Who?"

"Violet." I can barely get her name out. "Just why? I mean, I must have done something wrong but... What?"

"Oi, if someone bloody cheats on you then it's not your fucking fault!" Tom says in the most serious tone I've heard from him so far. "Don't mope! You're allowed to be angry!"

"But, part of me-"

"Still loves her?" He's read my mind again.

"Yeah."

Tom chews his bottom lip, then leans to me again.

"You're an English student Schofield." Not a question, a fact. "Do me one and go home tonight and write down everything you fucking feel about all this. Using your big fancy words." I raise my brows at him. "I know, I know. I sound like a fucking shrink. But... Situations like this become a lot less 'life threatening' when you can put them into words. Just ask every songwriter ever."


	6. Tom

I poke at my chips on the plastic school plate. I'm not hungry for lunch for the first time ever it seems. The guys bustle in conversation both opposite me and to my left, the unreadable noise from the loud hall clouds my ears and I'm often shouting "what?" and "huh?" when any of them try and talk to me. 

I'm not paying too much attention though. My eyes scower the place, glancing at all the faces, bags. I see Schofield standing against the wall just in my view line. He looks timid and blank-faced. We catch eyes, he still doesn't move. I sit up straight, raise my arm in the air and motion for him to walk over. He nods and effortfully does so.

"Who're you waving at Blake? Wilko asks, though he isn't really looking at me. 

I suddenly come to the realisation that none of the boys know about Scho and I's little chat during period one and how-

"Oh... Yeah, I asked Schofield if he wanted to sit with us and he said yes."

"Why?" Crawford exclaims with a mouthful of beans.

"When've you ever been close with him?" Mason asks in the same tone.

"Obviously since the wheely-chair-falling-backwards incident." Radley giggles. "Grabbing someone out of their seat is a good conversation starter!"

"Oi shut up and be nice." I rebuke that stupid incident immediately. Even on the yesterday, I instantly found the situation less funny when Schofield wasn't laughing with us. "His bird cheated on him, I decided to cut him some slack. This is no different from when we took Mason on cos that dickhead stole his-"

"Wait, wait! Will Schofield and Violet Cashmere are no more?!" Radley exclaims looking like a gaping fish. "D'ya know if it was a one time thing with the other guy? She up for grabs now?"

"Behave! he's here!" I hiss as Scho arrives at the head of our table.

I look at him stiffly holding himself. I raise my eyebrows at him as if to say 'don't be nervous it's just my mates.' So he sits at the end next to me, mumbling a 'hi' so quiet I barely catch it. The lads don't know what the hell to do. They've had their odd jokes about various people in our year group but they're decent enough people to not be twats to their faces. I mean, Schofield never and probably wouldn't have sat with us. And I'm not entirely sure what came over me this morning, but part of me felt obliged to help him out after he told me he didn't have many 'real' friends with slightly teary and awkward eyes. But the guys don't exactly think like that. If it's not their business? It's not their business. Until it has to be.

Schofield settles pretty quickly, focusing on his meal and expecting us to go back to the chat. Maybe it's nervous eating.

"So." Wilko starts, trying to be all casual. "Violet Cashmere's a bitch huh?" Schofield snaps his sight to me. I clang my fork onto the table.

"Wilks man, shut the fuck up!"

"No it's fine." Schofield mutters, blinking slowly. "It was bound to get out somehow."

"Nah mate, I promise I wasn't bitching about it." I mumble so Scho can hear me, not the guys. "I-"

"Tom, you're safe." He looks up from all of us. His face falls. I spy Violet opposite us, she's not looking. In face, she has the expression of a blank sheet of paper. She got over that shit quickly the. I look back at a stung Schofield. 

"Yeah, she is a bitch." He states but in a way that says so otherwise. 

"Yeah probably should leave it though. Huh Schofield?" Crawford says. "I'm allowed to call you that right?"

I half expect Schofield to pull his cross face and insist we call him 'Will'. But he just shrugs, still keeping his eyes down.

"Do whatever." He states.

The lads decide to not be bothered by him and go back to their own talks. I finally start eating, as I think the loss of appetite could have derived from my slight anxiety about they guys reactions to Schofields sudden appearance.

Suddenly, Scho taps my leg under the table, trying to get my attention without being obvious to everyone else. I non-verbally ask what the matter is. He nods downwards. In the palm of his hand lies a tiny shred of paper with the words "Thank You" scribbled onto it. I smile at him.

"S'alright" I mouth.

* * *

That English class is in discussion. But not the type of discussion that prevents the four of us (minus Mason) from talking between sections of our compositions. I sit steady on my chair as not to repeat yesterday, Schofield's been through enough. He's murmuring glumly to the person next to him about whatever book they're reading. Something about an Inspector. And he's presumably talking to distract himself from the fact Larson sits across the room from him, throwing slight glances and sickly smiles to his friends. Twat. 

I draw my attention back to the computer screen. The school headphones I've had to borrow are uncomfortable and stringy and piss me off, but not nearly as much as the fact that I can't come up with any decent bloody lyrics for this piece. I should probably make the effort to this time round because of higher marks and all that. Choosing Wolf Alice as my inspiration was supposed to be easy, their heavy sounding stuff is fairly straight forward? Ever hear Yuk Foo? _"YOU BORE ME TO DEATH!"_ Poetry.

Although despite what I try to put out, I can't for the life of me just get something simple yet straight forward out. You see the thing is? I'm not really feeling anything as of late. Anything thrilling or meaningful at least.

"How's yours going Blake?" Crawford leans to my screen.

"Have a listen." I pass him the crummy headphones without making eye contact. He takes off his own and I press play. I carefully watch the emotions in his eyes and analyse them. He always knows what he's doing with his stuff so if he likes what I have so far then we're in business.

"Yeah that's sick!" He says, handing the headphones back.

"Or it would be." I grumble. "If I could come up with bloody words. My whole brain's just going 'flying high, in the sky, with a pie, in my eye-" 

I say this with a completely serious face and tone of course. I hear Schofield from behind me laugh under his breath at my remark. At least, I think it was at my remark. First time today I've heard him laugh in a way that isn't deflated or put on. And because of that, I find myself fighting back a laugh of my own. 

"You'll think of something." Crawford continues. "You always do."

"No I do fucking not." I reply feeling slightly patronised. "Easy for you to say as well. You're a master at this shit. Our songs are gonna be bloody butters without you at practice no more."

"Onnnnnnn the subject." Wilko leans as far as he can from the end of the table in our direction. "You'll be happy to know that your boy has come up with a pretty snazzy band name."

My ears prick up instantly. It's about time one of us had an idea, or is at least brave enough to say one.

"Well go on then?" I pursue.

"I mean it's probably shit but it's better than nothing-"

"Just spill it Wilks!" Radley says expressionless at his screen. Wilko holds a fake mic in his hand.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, please welcome to the stage:" He does jazz hands. "English Computers."

Radley and I turn and stare at him in unison. Even Crawford raises an unimpressed brow and he's not even in the bloody thing.

"English fucking computers?"

"Yeah cos of the-" Wilko's voice trails out as he points to to the row of screens.

"Now I've heard everything." Radley mutters.

"Well do you wankers have anything better?" Wilko exclaims with his confidence back.

"I don't think it's terrible?" Schofield says almost on an impulse, swivelling around on his seat. He quickly becomes a bit lost for words when we all look to him. "It's like... Similar to Talking Heads... or something."

"See? Schofield knows what he's all about!" Wilko uses Schos words to back himself up.

"Y'know what?" I reason. "It's better than bloody nothing. But if we find something better, which we will, we're using that."

"And we'll ask for Schofields opinion." Radley jokes. "He could be our word-ist."

"Pretty sure that's not a phrase in the English language." Schofield states ironically. I mean, his facial doesn't really change so I assume it is.

"Well then you can help us reach things on top shelves?" Wilko mocks.

"Shut up." Schofield and I reply in unison, although I think he's becoming less sensitive now.

"I'm joking!"

"Music students, if you're going to be in here, don't disturb my students!" Mr. Erinmore calls. Schofield apologises first.

The final bell goes soon enough. We're the last ones to leave the room behind the English lot. To be honest, all I want is to head straight home and bloody think about what to write for this composition. It's only one of many but it'll piss me off all night otherwise.

"I don't want to hear it!"

A loud voice resides in front of me as I head out the door. I look up to where it's coming from. Violet Cashmere walks in front of Schofield continuously as he attempts to walk away with heavy steps.

"Christs sake Will, would you just let me speak?" Violet snaps, trying not to draw attention but failing. Larson's long gone. Funny, I thought he's watch something like this with a bucket of popcorn.

"Blake!" Radley calls from behind me. "What're you doing? Come on." They all begin walking in the opposite direction. But I'm still drawn to the voices in front of me.

"Violet, get out of the way."

"I promise you it wasn't what you think!"

"Really? Cos it sure looked like it."

I don't follow the lads. I walk forward. I haven't thought this through at all. My body seems to have a mind that isn't mine which is propelling me towards the commotion. I hear Violet's words clearer and clearer.

"This is exactly your problem Will, you don't pay attention to anyone who isn't you!-"

"Hey!" I capture Schofields attention. "You good?" I smile at Violet like I have no idea what's just been happening. "Hey Cashmere! You don't do English lit last time I checked?"

"Neither do you Tom." Violet says, shooting me a death glare.

"Here on music business, beauty. Also I think Larson's looking for ya so you might want to run along?" her jaw tenses up at the notion of others knowing about her and Scho's situation. Which, brutal as you might want to call me, is exactly what I was going for. I put an arm around a confused Schos shoulder and pull him away from her presence.

"Hey! I was having a conversation with him?" Violet shoots her last line of defence.

"Yeah? So were we!" I jolt my head in the lads direction. "C'mon Schof, you were telling us about the guilt of Eva Smith or...whatever." He wasn't. And he knows he wasn't. He's just subtly going along with my antics to get out of whatever the hell Cashmere was trying to rope him into. 

"Thank Christ you pulled me out of that shit." Schofield says quietly to me as we walk towards the rest of the boys. 

I glance behind me. Violet swears under her breath and gives up. 

But I don't take my arm off Schofields shoulders.


	7. Will

"Yo Schofield!" Ollie calls, even thought I'm right next to him. "We're all going back to my place to play video games. D'ya wanna come?"  
My first instinct is to say no. The back of my brain still suspects this is a practical joke. But interestingly enough, I'm starting to trust them all more. Especially Tom. My head rationalises everything bit by bit and I come to the partial conclusion that Tom wouldn't have rescued me from Violet's bullshit if he was having a laugh.

"Isn't it game night on Tuesday Wilks?" Tom responds to Ollie in confusion.

"It _is_ Tuesday." Ollie states back. 

"Oh yeah."

"You smoke too much bloody weed." Liam mutters. Tom rolls his eyes and looks to me, mouthing 'I don't'.   
We all walk out the front doors, minuscule early years knocking into us.

"Bloody rats." Tom spits.

"Anyway," Ollie continues. "What do you say Schofield?" 

I'm fully about to consider a 'yes'. I find my inner voice laughing, as I never wanted to be grouped with these guys, but the nicknames and sudden chumminess will now suggest so otherwise. But as we walk out the gates, I see Mum in her car. Waiting for me. I'm hit with the realisation that yes, it's Tuesday. Meaning she's picking me up and taking me to work. She catches my eye and waves. I don't wave back for two reasons. One being I don't know how the boys will react. The other being I can't face telling her of all people what's happened in recent events.

"Shit sorry guys. I'm working this evening."

"Awh shame!" Tom says.

"I mean, I could next week?

"Only if you feel like it?" Anthony tells me.

"Ok well... Thanks anyway."

I make my way across the road, over to the car. The boys call after me. But I don't cringe. I climb in the front seat.

"Hey love! How was your day?" Mum asks, leaning over and kissing my head.

Shall I tell her?

I decide for that moment I won't. I'd probably set myself off again after finally feeling better. Plus that kind of stuff is a touchy subject for her.

"It was 'eh'" I simply put it.

"How's your girlfr-"

"I made friends today." I quickly interrupt her. I'll talk about it when I have to. But not now. 

"Oh?" Mum sounds as she starts the car. "What're their names?"

"Tom, Liam, Ollie, Anthony and Alister."

"Wow! Quite the group!"

"Well we all just started today. I've known them since year seven though."

"Interesting." Mum's definitely catching onto the suddenness of it all. For ages, I only had 'friends' who I barely spoke to and who I always made by talking first. "There a reason you're all suddenly best mates after seven years?"

"Well we're not 'best mates' we just-" I start shaking. I try to ignore it. "Well it was actually Tom who started talking-" I'm crying. I don't even feel that sad. My eyes just started randomly welling up. The overwhelming mood of today hits me. Mum pulls the car over.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh no Mum don't-"

"What is it?"

"No look, people are staring-"

"I don't give a rats ass Will! You're not telling me something."

"What makes you say that?!"

"Oh, maybe the crying? The exhilaration of your breathing and the fact you were totally flat when you got in the car?" Mum looks at me, still gripping the wheel. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing I-"

"I don't want a repeat of what happened last year when you got upset regularly and-"

"Violet cheated on me!" I let it out sooner than thought. But finally. Mum's concerned face melts into sympathy. Or is the sympathy just trying to mask her own sadness. "Violet cheated on me with fucking Andrew and Tom asked me about it and he let me talk to him and his mates so now I'm "friends" with the guys who used to drive me up the fucking wall in year nine because _apparently_ 'people change' and Tom was fucking _nice_ to me without me asking him to be! And I might as well get new friends since everyone I _was_ hanging out with runs circles around Violet and-"

"Will? Will!" Mum slips her hand in mine. I stop. I sigh with an odd sort of relaxation after letting all of that out on a continuous stream.  
I look Mum in her eyes, which are fighting back tears of anger? Sadness? Sorry? "It's not your fault. Ok? It's never your fault!" All stuff I'm currently trying to get a hold of. I want to let more go. All of it

But I want to spare mum the misery. Especially since she dealt with a similar thing.

"Just... Let's go."

* * *

I told Tom light blue is my favourite colour. I didn't lie. I associate it with early morning skies in summer. The ones that aren't grey and miserable and make it impossible to get out of bed.

This is not the case with clothes.

The nurses at the care home wear decent looking lilac uniforms. The volunteers, like me, just wear the shirts except they're a hideous shade of light blue. Not like the sky at all. More like drain cleaner.

I walk down to the main living room clutching a pack of cards, since last week I had promised David a game of '110'. He always beats me though, as I still get lost on the rules. However, I enjoy it. He got on well with Grandad and I need an escape from people my own age.

"Will, can you do me a massive favour?" Jane, one of the nurses, hurries up behind me.

"Sure. What do you need?"

"I was with Edie just now and I had to dash cos my shift is over. But I feel bad for leaving her because we just had a long chat about 'being alone' and... Please?"  
It's not a deflating request. I like Edie. But I push the playing cards back into my jean pocket.

"Sure."

"It's only for a few minutes. Ayla's going to be here in a bit."

"Yeah, don't worry about it."

Jane thanks me again. I turn and walk in the opposite direction to where I was going. I reach Edie's bedroom, the door is already propped open so I slide in. Edie sits by the window looking at the purple evening sky. She looks focused and content, completely unbothered by her fragile state.

"Hi Edie, looking forward to seeing your grandkids?" She doesn't respond. "Edie?"  
She probably doesn't have her hearing aids in. I walk up to her and sit in the chair opposite. Her hearing aids are in, maybe she's just choosing not to acknowledge me. Has it crossed Jane's mind that Edie just _likes_ to be alone? "Enjoying the sunset then?"

She finally turns to my voice. Her eyes light up, she looks cheery and surprised. She does this every time she sees me.

"Harry?"

"No Edie. I'm Will. Remember?' I sigh, seeing it coming. Edie gathers herself and sinks back into her chair.

"Will..." She murmurs, almost disappointed.

"Want me to read you something?" I offer as it's her favourite past time. Edie nods with a sweet but tired smile. I look through her small bookshelf, I'm pretty sure Jane's read her most of them. I pick one at random and sit back down. "Sense and sensibility. Fancy this?""

"I've read it a million times Harry, you know this."

"Will." I whisper under my breath. Suddenly I notice an old and tattered that Edie rests her hands on. A muddy green, pages browning with age. "What've you go there?"

"The book you gave me." Edie says slowly. "Surely you haven't forgotten?" 

I squint in confusion.

"I didn't give you that?" 

"Yes you did Harry!"

Oh.

She's been calling me that for years. Even before I started working here and was only over to visit Grandad. I suppose I shouldn't be hard on her about it, she's our oldest resident and her mind is of course not what it used to be. But who's Harry? Her husband? Her brother? Cousin? I can't even ask her who he is because she genuinely believes I'm him.  
I let it slide. I take the old book from her fragile hands. Embossed in a murky silver on the front, much of which is almost gone, it reads "Children's Poems". Bit of a strange book for her to want to be reading, but my initial thought is that it's an old memoir she's planned to pass down to her great-grandchildren.

"Are you going to give this to Rosie and Noah?" I ask.

"Who?"

"You remember? Your great-gr-"

"Harry, read the one on page thirty like you always do."

I have never read this book in my life, but that's clearly not what she thinks. I flick through the pages, being wary of the ones that look as if they might fall out. I look back at Edie. She's zoned out, gazing at the sky again. I reach page thirty. So I just start reading.

"They went to sea in a Sieve, they did,  
In a Sieve they went to sea:  
In spite of all their friends could say,  
On a winter’s morn, on a stormy day,  
In a Sieve they went to sea!  
And when the Sieve turned round and round,  
And every one cried, ‘You’ll all be drowned!’  
They called aloud, ‘Our Sieve ain’t big,  
But we don’t care a button! we don’t care a fig!  
In a Sieve we’ll go to sea!’  
Far and few, far and few,  
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;  
Their heads are green, and their hands are blue,  
And they went to sea in a Sieve-"

My phone rings, distracting from the atmosphere. Edie doesn't even flinch. I look at my screen, an unknown number flashes up. I go to hang up but I decide not to as it might be a university or something trying to contact me.

"Give me two seconds."

I excuse myself from a not-bothered Edie and stand in the hall next to her door. I press answer.

"Hello?"

"Hey Schofield! How you holding up?" Toms voice blasts through the small speaker. I get frustrated at the volume but I smile at his optimism. For some reason.

"Hi, yeah, still at work- how did you get my number?"

"You're in Wilko's photography group chat? He passed you on."

"Oh. Fantastic."

Ayla, Edies granddaughter, and her children come round the corner: Noah, who's twelve and plays with a tiny toy plane, and Rosie, six, who timidly waves at me. Ayla silently points to Edies door, asking silently if they can enter. I nod and they pass. I shut the door behind them, momentarily forgetting Tom's rambling in my ear.

"-Cos honestly mate, I'd smack the shit outta the guy!"

"Sorry sorry I missed the first half of that." I interrupt him whilst walking outside.

"Ah basically I was talking about how we share a solidarity in hating Andrew bloody Larson."

"Yeah... A thing in common." I reply. I listen to the crackle of the signal. "Why'd you call me?"

"Felt like it." Tom scoffs. "You're fun to talk to."

"Uh oh. How?"

"I dunno, the way you say things and that."

"Meaning?"

"Well I can have a proper conversation with you. The guys just go ballistic all the time."  
I laugh.

"Aren't you with them right now? Video game night or whatever?"

"Couldn't be arsed to be honest."

"That's fair enough I guess."

Another slight quiet. 

"Oh also!" Tom exclaims. "Don't forget that thing I told you to do!"

"What thing?" I ask, my mind already blank from today.

"Right basically if you feel, like, proper annoyed or pissed off about everything or anything? Write it all down."

"Oh. Oh yeah no, I remember you saying that now." I was actually considering doing it in the car on the way down, but didn't want Mum looking over my shoulder.

"Just some advice I guess."

"Tom?" I ask, as I feel like my upcoming question still hasn't really received a clear answer. Maybe at this point I don't need one but- "Why are you suddenly being so... Nice to me?"

"Scho, I like to think I'm a nice guy." Tom says confidently, no hesitation. "Sure it's a bit hard to convey that 'round the boys but... I dunno. You was upset and what better time to clean the slate?"

Things just happen I guess. I should be grateful for gaining an acquaintance rather than analysing why it's an odd situation.

"Ok well... Thanks... Again."

"Don't mention it."

He hangs up. Or maybe the signal cut out. And in the moments I hear the beeping in my ear before walking back into the building, I realise I actually _like_ talking to Tom.

Not him and all his mates.

Just Tom...

* * *

I'm washing hands in the bathroom sink, which of course is a normal occurrence for everyone. But tonight is uncomfortable and off-putting.   
It's the mirror infant of me you see, I can't look at myself in it. My eyes will immediately dash to the fading bruise-like mark on the side of my neck. I feel my body burn and not in a good way like it used to when I would think about Violet.

So she left a mark on my skin when she was with someone behind my back? Was I just her object the entire time?   
No answers can be found and it makes me want to scrape my body clean.

I turn the tap off and leave the bathroom, going directly to my bedroom and shutting the door. I lie on my back, breathing through stressed breaths. In an instant, I remember what Tom said. What he _has_ been saying. I rocket up and pull my notebook from my bag along with the first pen I see. I scribble with every breath, my handwriting becoming more and more distorted and destructed:

**WHY DID YOU PRETEND?**   
**I REALLY BELIEVED EVERYTHING WAS OK!**   
**WHY DID YOU MARK ME UP LIKE A PIECE OF BLANK PAPER WAS I NOT ENOUGH??**   
**WAS IT MY FAULT?**   
**WHY DID YOU MAKE ME BELIEVE YOU LOVED ME!?**   
**HOW MANY PEOPLE DO YOU NEED TO LOVE YOU?????**

My pen tears through the paper and grazes the skin on my hand a little. I stop. I linger on the last line, partially torn.

**HOW MANY PEOPLE DO YOU NEED TO LOVE YOU?????**

I'm hit with the clarity that this isn't my fault. I mean, I knew that beforehand but it's only now it decides to settle in. It's the classic trope of someone saying they love someone else to feel better about themselves. Does one bad thing make someone a bad person?   
I take a deep breath and continue writing.

**How many people do you need to love you? Me? Him? Who else?**   
**It's like you've blinded me. Because I can feel my love for you but no longer see it.**   
**You hurt me.**   
**I can't talk to you, I can't look at you.**   
**But I can't hate you.**   
**I can't bring myself to hate you.**

I can't. That's the truth. As much as I want to. I find hating people such a task, especially when I practically shared a life with them previously. Violet isn't the only person I've experienced this feeling of betrayal from. There will be questions I can't answer so what's the point in continuously asking them? 

I sigh away from my notepad and pick up my phone. I scroll through recent calls and conversations.

"Tom? Hey. What're you doing right now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JeSUS I haven't updated in forever so HERE YOU GO!!!


	8. Tom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIGHT HERE I AM BACK AT IT AGAIN!  
> I shall warn you that my mental health has been punching me in the face as of late so if updates are varying in terms of consistency then I apologies. But for nOW-
> 
> Enjoy the latest instalment. Quite a short one but enjoy none the less.

21:30pm

Mum and Dad don't know I'm out. Joe does, as he called me just as I went out the door, but it's not like he's going to tell anyone.  
I remember the days when arguments between Mum and Dad would leave me in tears and Joe would sneak us both out to this exact park and make up wild stories until I calmed down.  
I sit on a bench in front of the woods, the battery on my phone is low so I don't use it. I grind the toe of my shoe into the floor, the gravel from the path tearing up fallen leaves.

"Hey."

I look up, Schofield stands beside the bench. Even in the dim, navy colour of the evening I see his shy but relieved smile.

"There he is!" I welcome him. "C'mon don't be a twig. Sit down." He does so. "Did you write the-"

"Yeah. It helped... A bit."

"Nice." I respond. "Told you."

"Guess you did."

The wind rustles the leaves against each other above us. It's mostly silent apart from a few cars going back and forth. Quite unusual for me to be in the company of someone who isn't a family member and not be bombarded with loudness, although I suppose that's what I'm used to.

"Sorry for dragging you out here, couldn't bare to be indoors to be honest." Schofield utters, leaning back on the bench and looking to the silhouetted branches above us.

"Stop apologising."

"It's just that I genuinely don't have anyone else to-"

"Well now you do!" I persist. "Today was awful, sure. But you gotta start looking for the positives!"  
Scho laughs weakly. He slowly brings his head back down to catch my eyes.

"Make me a list." I lean back and gesture to myself. He's unconvinced. "Tom Blake became my best friend forever? I'm overwhelmed by the revelation."

"My my Schofield, that stung!" I clutch my heart and lean into him as if I'm gravely wounded. He shrugs a shoulder and tells me to get off but I continue until I get more than a depressed breath resembling a laugh from him. "My best mate thinks I'm a tosser!" I jokingly groan. I hear his reluctant giggles finally and remove myself.

"I'm just joking though." He later states. "I'm grateful for your advice and company. It's just not everyday you find yourself relying on your polar opposite."

I observe him as he speaks. He pushes his thick hair out of his face, the last evening light tinting his features a baby blue. In this light he looks like a photograph on the cover of some acoustic album... Or something.

"What makes you think we're such opposite ends of the spectrum?" I ask. "We get on alright, plus I'd wear everything you have on."

"What's that got to do with anything?" I shrug, not sure where I was going with that one. "I just hate loads of attention and you seem to be fine with it."

"Oh that's like one reason!" I argue, except I don't really. I want him to keep talking. I get pretty tired of hearing my own voice after a while.

"No, but it's like... It's admirable. I didn't used to be this bloody uptight."

"You ain't."

"But I am." Silence. I can't stop looking at him. I have no idea why. I'm just observant as it goes and I've never really _seen_ Schofields face until now. Ever since he hit puberty properly at least. He's focused yet wondering. I've seen this look on people before: he's contemplating whether or not to tell me something. But then, as thought through as he can, he does. "Things didn't used to be so shit once upon a time. I tried to stay away from complicated stuff after my Dad left because, well, yeah it was too much. And then, bit by bit, it wasn't complicated anymore!" He pauses, barely exhibiting an expression of upset disappointment. "Until now."

"You're too good for her mate." I state. Wishing he'd let it go already but not wanting to be selfish. Easier said than done I know, and probably easier for me to say as I've never been in a proper relationship. But I _can_ say that if I was cheated on; I'd never want anything to do with said girl ever again. "You're a good looking bloke, there's plenty of other fish in the sea." Schofield looks at me, wordless again. "Sorry. Too insensitive?"

"Not on your part." He mumbles. "She went and did that even with everything I had told her!" He turns to me fully, finger extended. "My Dad cheated on my Mum. She knew it. It screwed up my home life. She knew it! She went and did that even with everything I told her! Just... The irony of it all!"

"No need to shout." I joke, as this is the loudest I've heard him this evening.

"No it's ok. I'll shut up now."

I stand up. I jolt my head in the direction of the woods. I've had enough of the down time.

"Come on."

"Huh?"

"I want to show you something come on."

I walk behind the bench and into the thick trees. I hear Schofield follow me, sticks and leaves crunching underneath our shoes. He follows me without even asking why we're straying further away from the last light of the sky and streetlights. Not yet anyway. I stop before it gets so dark our vision goes.

"Tom? What the hell are we doing?" I turn around and can just about see Scho move closer to me while slightly stumbling over roots and horned bushes. "I can't see shit!"

"Ok first of all mate, if we're going to get along properly? Enough with all this 'Tom' nonsense. Call me Blake like everyone else." I'm smiling through my speech but in the pitch black I can tell Schofield isn't so much picking up on my sarcasm. 

"Whatever." He exasperatedly mumbles. I proceed to reach up and place my fingers on his temples and thumbs under his chin. "Hey! What're you-"

I tilt his head upwards to the dark blue sky. His eyes capture the final glow of the evening. He stops wriggling around and looks.

"What do you see?"

"Branches and leaves and shit- What are you doing?"

"Ok. What else?" I keep his head up to stop him drowning in his thoughts. Quiet.

"Indigo."

"What're you thinking about?"

"How I really can't make out the trees anymore? Is there a correct answer to this?"

"Exactly!" I take my hands away from his face. He gasps ever so slightly. "And what were you _not_ thinking about?" The barely visible expression on Scho's face is the personified version of a question mark. I begin to walk back the way the way we came. "Violet." No response, he just follows. "It's possible to stop thinking, I promise."

We come back out to the streetlights. I assume Schofield's stuck in his head yet again after the silence. Maybe I shouldn't have pulled him back into it afterwards. But now I know my theory is correct.  
My phone goes off in my pocket. A message from Mum:

_M U M: Where are you?? It's late! Are you safe?_

_Y O U: I'm fine! Coming back now!_

"Hey listen Scho, My Mum wants me back at base now." I look up towards him. He looks slightly dazed and not really sure what to do with himself.

"Oh. Ok."

"But it was nice seeing you!"

"Yeah it's late. My Mum will be interrogating me as well." He smiles. "Thank you though."

"No need to thank me. I was bored anyway. See you 'round!" I hit his forearm in the reassuring way I'd do to any of the boys: it knocks him slightly off balance. I begin to walk away, the streetlamp above us dimming as I do.

"Wait!" I turn back around. Schofield looks slightly embarrassed as his volume was probably louder than he wanted it to be. 

"Yeah?" 

"Sorry um, I just..." He takes a small black notebook from his jacket pocket, flicking it to a page. "Read this and tell me that I'm not going mad? Or that I'm being overdramatic?"  
I walk back and take a peek, curiously. I notice his writing is scribbly and obviously from a distressed hand. So I don't try to make sense of it.

"Scho. The whole point of writing something down that's in your head-"

"I know, I know. I wasn't going to show anyone else. But I'm a bit of a reassurance junkie at the moment? Have you felt anything similar?"

I take the notebook and read:

**WHY DID YOU PRETEND?**   
**I REALLY BELIEVED EVERYTHING WAS OK!**   
**WHY DID YOU MARK ME UP LIKE A PIECE OF BLANK PAPER WAS I NOT ENOUGH??**   
**WAS IT MY FAULT?**   
**WHY DID YOU MAKE ME BELIEVE YOU LOVED ME!?**   
**HOW MANY PEOPLE DO YOU NEED TO LOVE YOU?????**

**How many people do you need to love you? Me? Him? Who else?**   
**It's like you've blinded me. Because I can feel my love for you but no longer see it.**   
**You hurt me.**   
**I can't talk to you, I can't look at you.**   
**But I can't hate you.**   
**I can't bring myself to hate you.**

"You wrote this?" I ask. What I read is pure, raw emotion. A strange insight into someones thoughts while in distress. I find the words less like something on someones mind and more like something from a rockstars journal.

"Yeah? Who else would have? Like-"

"No, I mean- This was the first thing that came to your mind. Like, you didn't plan it out beforehand to sound all poetic you just... Wrote it down."

"What are you trying to get at?"

The idea comes out of my mouth before my brain begins to process it:

"How would you feel about this being used in a song?"


	9. Will

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter update? On my page? It's more likely than you think...
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER THOUGH!!!  
> Contains mentions of suicide.

I blink at him as he awaits a response.

"It's not _that_ good?" I mumble.

"Oh but it is." Tom, Blake, insists as if I'm being utterly stupid. "You should see the stuff I try to produce when something's pissing me off. It's just scribbles on a page!" Thanks I guess?

"Yeah but it's hardly song material?" I say, despite remembering him saying at the start of all this that songwriters are known for putting feelings into words. "Besides, I can't sing or play any instruments to save my life so what use would that be to me?" Blake squints and chews his cheek, waiting for his eureka moment. "I'd get laughed at anyway-"

"I'll do it?" A genuine response from him.

"What?"

He moves closer.

"I'll put it to music. I'll sing so you don't have to. And the band could get on board _and_ I'll play guitar!" I can't even process a clear thought as he keeps talking. "Cos then that way? That way yeah, the hurt is no longer yours to hold onto! Cos I assure you; you're not the first person to feel like this and you most definitely won't be the last." He realises his left hand's on my shoulder, the other to my chest. He pulls away and reduces his mood. "Plus... I have a composition due on Friday and Mr. Leslie wants lyric and I suck at that shit so... Help a guy out?"

I think for a moment when I finally exclude the image of Mum asking me a hundred questions when I get home from my brain. I'm pretty tempted by the aspect of my problems not being mine anymore.   
However, although I admire Blake being genuine about his own interests while taking into account my mental health (and not taking the piss), my anxious curtain closes on us. I don't really want more drama with Violet then there already is. I'm not sure if Blakes band are playing to crowds or whatnot, but the possibility of anyone, especially Violet and Andrew, linking anything emotional back to me would be a nightmare. I don't care _who's_ saying it.

"I'd rather not to be honest." Blakes face falls. "It's not that I think you couldn't pull it off! I'm sure your rendition would be... Great! But I don't know. What's mine stays mine I guess. And I'm not sure how I feel about helping you cheat on your coursework."

"It's not cheating if you adapt it Mr. English Language." He does eyebrows at me as if to suggest something improper. I can't find a response. So I shrug. "No it's fine. I understand. No pressure, or hard feelings for that matter. But you should keep writing! No wonder the bloody headmaster's your English teacher!" I roll my eyes and laugh.

"Yeah. By chance. I had nothing to do with it."

"Whatever. But consider helping the lads and I with other material, especially since Crawford's fallen off the face of the 'English Computers' earth."

"So you're definitely 'English Computers' then?"

"We're working on it." Blake tuts.

"Right well, good luck! I'll consider your offer." Not sure if that feels like a truth or not, but it revives Blakes smile. "See you tomorrow then?"

"Yeah see you tomorrow!"

We walk in opposite directions.

* * *

I wait with Mum in the car. Not sure whether or not I can muster the strength to get out and walk into the school building. I look with a pale face at everyone going through the main doors. I, in old fashioned parlance, can't be arsed. So much so that I practically pleaded Mum to drive me in this morning, which she reluctantly agreed to.

I keep staring.

"Changed my mind. I don't want to."

"Will-"

"I don't want to. At least not today." Mum's not having it. She grabs my hand. I find her eye contact to be quite unsettling but I know she's trying her hand at reassurance.

"The strongest thing you can do right now is treat it like it's dust under your feet."

"But it's driving me nuts. Can I have today to just adjust to this complete change?"

"Will! Hold your head up! I wish I had done the same." I sigh in defeat, taking my bag from my feet. I hug her. "And if you see Violet today? Ignore her. Walk in the other direction. Trust me, don't indulge in the situation unless you really have to."

I nod. Then stiffly but surely walk out of the car. Through the glass doors of the school building. I notice mum doesn't leave the car park until I'm in the building. I glue her advice to the front of my brain. But I seem to be using a pritt stick instead of the fancy solvent kind. I just hate everything at the minute.  
But I walk upstairs to my form room, avoiding faces but hoping tension will reduce once I reach it. Especially if Tom, I mean Blake, is already there with Anthony Radley and Alister Mason talking about something pointless yet oddly interesting.

I'm faced with my first obstacle of the day.

Andrew and his goons crowd the doors that separate the stairwell from the exact corridor I need to go down. He's leaning on the handle. I want to disappear into thin air.  
With tense shoulders, I walk up to the doors with my eyes on the ground. 

But Andrew Larson, being Andrew Larson, doesn't budge.

I try, with a sore mind, to keep Mums words intact; head held high.

"Can you move?" I flatly ask, looking at him as unbothered as as I can by his presence. Andrew chews his tongue and locks eyes with me. He's trying to be intimidating but it isn't working on me this time.

"Sup Beanpole. How're you this morning?"

"I need to get through."

"Well no one's stopping you mate?" He gestures to the door, but still won't move. I hatefully stare at him as I clock how I'm going to have to physically push past. His friends don't say anything. They just watch and sneer.  
I end up squeezing past Andrew awkwardly but furiously. At last, the door is open and I make my move out.   
But not before muttering 'cunt' under my breath.  
I see my form starting to gather outside our classroom door.

"Sorry, what did you say?" 

I stop in my tracks as I hear Andrews voice behind me. I turn to see him staring in a hostile manner, having just stopped the door from closing. The other guys are fighting back laughs to each other. I aim not to forget Mums words but so much of me wants nothing more than to put him in his place.

So I stare back. Blankly as I can.

"I said you're a cunt."

Andrews friends throw out amused 'oohs' and whistles. But he smiles sickly and walks toward me as if we're just friends fallen out.

"Come on Will." He grins. "You're clever. Don't villainize me 'cos of something your bird did."

"This has nothing to do with Violet." I spit. "I've always thought you were a prick. All you do is exhibit stupid behaviour to compensate for your minuscule cock and it's just pathetic and debilitating to watch."

I suddenly stand stunned, surprised at what just came out of my mouth. I haven't had a surge of anger or confidence like that in forever. All of Andrews mockery fades despite the pack of boys howling in the background.

"You've grown a pair all of a sudden?"

"Bite me."

"Y'know I don't give a shit about you right? Violet's fucking problems ain't mine and I sure as hell didn't want to hear about yours."

"What do you mean mine? You're delusional."

"You think you're the victim of this? You think Violet came to me for _no_ reason?" 

I tense with heat caused by inner anger and panic. What the hell did she tell him. She couldn't have told him anything as drastic as I'm thinking.

"Fucking watch it Andrew."

"Well it's not _my_ fault you wanted to off yourself-"

My knuckles collide with his cheekbone, knocking him entirely off balance. I feel the adrenaline leave my body almost as quickly as it was shot into my bloodstream. And yet I'm not scared. I'm tired of being scared and apologetic every waking moment.  
I reach for the adrenaline syringe once again as Andrew gets to his feet.

"Do you want a fucking go!?" There's no humour in his voice whatsoever now. He hates that I've made him look weak when I'm supposed to be the weak one.

"I want you to get the fuck out of my life!" I yell, pushing him away from me.

There are distress flares flying in my mind right now and every single red flag is showing. _Stop it Will, stop it right now._ Everyone's watching. I'm terrified of how I'm acting but I can't make it stop. All I see is red. It's like a volcano. _Make it stop make it stop make it stop!_

Andrew swings at me.

But his fist is stopped at last minute by Mr. Mackenzie, who happened to be making his way in our direction just in time to stop us from killing each other.

"What on _earth_ is going on here?!" He booms, getting between us.

"Will's going mental at me for nothing!"

"Oh so we're gas lighting as well are we?!"

"Quiet! Both of you!" Mr. Mackenzie yells before giving us a lecture about disturbing the schools environment and I glance at Mrs. Hollins in my proviral vision, who's of course shocked. I feel my body deflate. I'm off my high horse now and I feel sad, exposed and embarrassed. I don't look or hear. I stand still.   
Slowly unclenching my fists, one of which stings from the commotion, the two of us are escorted down the corridor and past the classroom to the head of years office.

On this walk of shame, I catch the eyes of Blake, Mason and Radley (I assume that's what Alister and Anthony want to go by).

Radley's smiling out of shock as some people tend to do. Mason stares back at Andrews friends blankly.

Blake looks worried and genuinely concerned.

In that split second we look at each other and I remember yesterday evening. I suddenly realise how Violet probably told Andrew everything I had unintentionally dumped on her to justify what she was doing.

The more I resist letting go, the more I might hurt myself and others.

I feel for my notebook in my pocket. And before being hurried along, I press it into a surprised Blake's chest.

"Do whatever you want with it. Just don't make it quiet."


	10. Tom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO MONTHS WITHOUT UPLOADING! BUT IM BACK! YOU THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF ME!!!!!  
> Yayyyyyyyy I'm acc so happy to be back on this! Enjoy the latest and long awaited next instalment. Thanks for bearing with me. Now lets get this bread.

The writing is how I remember it, scrawled down on the pages out of anger or upset. One of the two at least. I feel odd. Well, not _odd_ , but I feel a sense of further intimacy with the situation. Reading exactly what Schofield's written without him being here next to me feels invasive, like I'm looking at him from outside his window.  
Except he's given me this notebook. His 'lyrics'. The commotion from yesterday definitely pushed a massive button. So it shouldn't make me feel like I'm prying. I guess I'm just not very used to someone else taking charge on what to do. Or something like that.

The guys and I sit on one of the many unused picnic tables in the school yard. A mix of kids, from year 7s to year 13s, play chaotic games of football on the astroturf in front of us. a normal surrounding for an average school break. Except I'm not really socialising. I 'socialised' all through history and my free period 2. All with the notebook on my mind however. 

"Blake!" Wilko calls from opposite me. I lift my eyes, catching sight of his dodgy ear now in a bandage. The sight makes me exhale a short laugh. But that's obviously not what he wanted to draw attention to. "Did you hear anything I just said bruv?"

"Oh. Nah sorry, say it again?"

"Told you he was away with the bloody fairies." Radley mutters taking a swig of water. "Reading his love poems for the last fifteen minutes."

"Oi piss off they're not love poems." I spit, knowing that's exactly the kind of joke he'd make. "You wouldn't get it."

"Well you've been acting like it's the bible so far" Mason chips in; a complete exaggeration. Normally in a situation like this, I wouldn't mind spilling the details on whatever was going on properly with Scho in the dramatics of it all. But it doesn't feel right to. There's a level of trust built up here that the lads wouldn't fully get. All they know is that Violet is a cheater. That's that. 

There is something else though. A burning question that I probably shouldn't be curious about. Because _then_ it'll be invasive.

What even properly drove Scho to throw that punch. He almost bloody knocked Larson out. Can't say it wasn't entertaining. But it must have been something a lot deeper then what's already at hand. He said something to Schofield just seconds before getting whacked.

"Guys." I raise. "Or Rads and Mase at the least." Mason and Radley don't look all ears, but I know they've started to listen. "You were closer to the fight. Larson said something before Schofield bollocked him. Any clue what it was?"

"Why?"

"Curious."

"Well it is like you to want to know all the details." Mason mutters. I roll my eyes. "But no. Didn't really pay attention to the bits beforehand. They kept it pretty quiet."

"Quiet my arse!" Radley exclaims. "Larson practically burst through the bloody door after Schofield and then proceeded to tell him to off himself like-"

"Jesus! what a wank!" I shout suddenly, hearing the statement. It makes Crawford jump a little beside me. Wilko raises his eyebrows and looks down. "Sorry lads, but even if you hate someone with every bone in your body, don't wish fucking death on them!?"

"Alright, alright Blake." Radley wavers his hands like I'm an amplifier that needs to be turned down. "That's what it sounded like anyway. But it's not even our business to be honest."

"Yeah but clearly Scho expects me to know that something's properly off when he gives me this-" I hold up the closed notebook- "when he said he wouldn't yesterday evening and that-"

"Yesterday evening?" Crawford pitches in. I chew the inside of my cheek, realising the guys would take it completely the wrong way if I told them about our talks at the park. Too late now though I guess.

"Yeah." I utter. "I met with Schofield yesterday evening. But only cos he was having a rough time."

"And then the two of you had a rough time." Crawford turns and says under his breath before looking at me and continuing to say: "Yank him from a chair again."

"Shut up Craw, let the guy speak. Whether we like it or not, Schofield's involved with us now and we with him." Wilko states. As chaotic as he is at times, Wilks always knows when to back me up or be serious and has done since year 1. I smile at the (kind of) gesture.

"Yeah who cares if Blake banged him in the woods." Mason says like an afterthought, completely oblivious. I kick him under the table. "Ow! Blake?!"

"Shut up then."

"Yeah serious matters Mason." 

"Oh just leave it." I continue. "I was away with the fairies. What were you saying earlier Wilko?" Wilko scrunches his face as he tries to remember a few minutes earlier. Radley remembers them for him.

"He was saying; since Crawford's leaving the motive to marry his revision," Craw sighs with sarcasm in the background. "We're going to need a new backing guitarist."

"I'm aware. Any ideas then?-"

"Yeah yeah I was just getting to that!" He shuts me down and continues his proposal. "Cooke overheard me and Crawford talking about it and well... He offered!"

"Cooke from the PE class?" I ask, even though there's no other Cooke in our year group. "He doesn't strike me as the type to be into music?" Well, good music that is.

"No he plays guitar and takes lessons. I heard him play at one of the school's summer concerts. He's actually really good." Crawford backs up the guy who's going to replace him. Odd. Craw's known for being way too proud about these things.

"And when was this summer concert Crawford?" I persist.

"Not important."

"Go on, when."

"In year 9."

"Great well now I'm convinced-"

I'm hit. Hit right in the face by something hard. The impact is sharp and has an elastic texture. I'm knocked into Crawford at a sudden jolt with a stinging and shocked face. I gasp at the striking seconds. I hear the boys laugh, with both humour and concern. I look to my feet and find the cause of the collision: A football. I look up and see it's owner: A year 8 boy with an equal expression of shock on his face. An obvious mistake. And of course, the youngers are strangely terrified of the sixth formers.

I bat him away as a gesture of "It's ok".

But it's not ok. My nose is bleeding.  
Big heavy gushes of red begin to flow down my face, into my mouth and on my clothes. Wilko wretches as if I just came out of a Zombie movie. It looks very much like I have. People are staring. Not that I've ever cared about that. But not in moments like these. 

Fuck. Is my nose broken? I mean, it doesn't sting as much for it to be. But it sure as hell feels-

"Christ on the cross Blake, don't spill yourself all over us!?" Crawford bellows as I still gather myself. "God, you're in the fucking wars this week!"

"Yeah bruv go to the medical room or something, we're all sick looking at it!" Radley says through winces.

So I do. Walking up the stairs looking like a serial killer with a tiny shred of tissue to my face. People get out of my way immediately. Even teachers. Even Mr. Mackenzie! 

Though he doesn't spare me the pissed side-eye.

I knock on the door. The school nurse opens it, a smell associated with first aid fills my nostrils. And, like almost everyone else, I give her a fright. Not knowing where to start, she hurries me onto the lounger where 5 other sick or somewhat wounded guys sit. I don't look at them. She gives me a clean cloth to stop the bleeding and tells me she'll see to it better after she calls some kids parents to pick them up.   
I hold my head forward as if to drain it. Looking at both my feet and the twiddling thumbs of the people next to me.

Right next to me are a pair of hands I recognise. One holds an icepack to the other, which is swollen and red around the knuckles.

I look up. Schofield.

Will.

His eyes are colourless. He stares ahead. I don't think he even payed any attention when I staggered in. So, naturally, I greet him.

"Hey."

He looks at me. Brows furrowing at my state. He confusedly and, almost relieved, laughs slightly.

"Hey. There's no getting away from you is there?"

**Author's Note:**

> Yeet so believe it or not this is the first fanfic i've written that I actually like and probably won't cringe at in future we love that.
> 
> If anyone needs some British words cleaning up let me know! I use quite a lot of them lol. Stay tuned for updates!!
> 
> P.S follow me on  
> Twitter: @blowfiield  
> Instagram: @eventheblue  
> Tumblr: @thevenblue  
> Wattpad: evenxnova (joint account with my gf where we write all our original stuff)


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